


Beginnings

by YourAverageBookworm



Series: Snapshots from a Brighter Future (aka a willful ignorance of canon) [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4695896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourAverageBookworm/pseuds/YourAverageBookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels young. He feels so young and hot headed and unprepared despite the fact that he has dedicated his life to this land, and he wonders sometimes if Uther ever felt this kind of inexperience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings

It’s a quiet night. Merlin’s kept the fireplace slightly lower, and it crackles gently, casting the room in a warm, flickering glow. Arthur watches absentmindedly as Merlin bustles around the room, picking up stray pieces of clothing and folding them with a patterned efficiency that’s almost soothing (there are some chores that Merlin still chooses to perform without magic, though they’re usually the easier ones). But tax documents sit at the side of his vision, their presence an inescapable reminder.

Arthur is sure his head is almost throbbing in time with his heartbeat. With a defeated sigh, he pushes the documents in front of him to the side and slumps forward onto his desk, determined to take a short nap and then maybe never wake up. That sounds very nice about now.

There’s a soft chuckle before he hears the soft thumps of a person walking over, and a warm presence comes up behind him. Hands run through his hair, and he might groan before leaning into the touch.

“The new tax laws are really giving you trouble, hmm?”

Now he really does groan. “It’s not even the laws, it’s the Council. Every tiny detail of revision I make must be discussed in Council until all parties are satisfied. I can ignore them, but it’s not worth the amount of trouble I’ll have if it turns out they’re right. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

The hands move from his hair to his shoulders, massaging them gently. “And if you’re the one that’s right?”

“How am I to know whether I am when the entire Council opposes me every time I hint at raising the taxes on the noblemen?” He leans back and finds himself staring up into Merlin’s bemused eyes. “It’s enough to give anyone a headache.”

“Even someone with as big of a head as yours?”

He’s about to respond with something suitably witty and withering, but Merlin presses his fingers into an especially tense spot a little harder. It feels a little like heaven, and Arthur decides that he’s a just and wise ruler so perhaps he won’t respond with anything too biting. Besides, if he doesn’t start showing some restraint now, he might accidently find himself comparing Lord Gregory to the backside of a pig. Again.

“Ugh, I hate you.”

Merlin grins. “You really don’t.” It’s unfortunately true, so Arthur makes a less than kingly face at him before turning to the tax documents again.

He feels young. He feels so young and hot headed and unprepared despite the fact that he has dedicated his life to this land, and he wonders sometimes if Uther ever felt this kind of inexperience. To his younger self, his father had seemed as if he’d been king forever—always sure of what to do and with a weight behind his words that Arthur couldn’t seem to put behind his own. Arthur knew the council disapproved of him. They were all old noblemen, and more specifically, _Uther’s_ men through and through.

Merlin seems to be thinking the same thing. “Perhaps it’s time for a little change in scenery in the council room.”

If only. “I can’t just appoint people who I know will agree with me or I’ll be no better than my fath—than my predecessors.”

“Well,” Merlin says, tone sly, “I’m sure I can think of a few people who won’t just lick your boots—heaven knows it’s not like you need the ego boost. Gwen, for one. Your knights.”

He has a point. For all of her stuttering and shyness, Gwen has never given an inch to anyone she thinks is being unjust. It’s one of the things he loves about her. And his knights all come from varied backgrounds—from rural peasants to the son of a blacksmith to the heir to King Lot’s throne. He trusted them to tell him the truth more than anyone. Well, almost anyone…

“I think you forgot to mention someone, _Merlin._ I can think of an obvious choice if I’m looking for someone who I can trust to contradict me and argue over even the smallest details they don’t agree with.”

He gives Merlin a pointed look, but to his surprise, Merlin won’t meet his eyes.

“I think you’d be surprised to find out how much I’d let you have, if you asked it.” His voice has gone softer and there’s something painfully honest in it that makes Arthur’s chest ache a little. “But please don’t ask me for this. I’ve made rash decisions in the past to keep you safe—decisions that have hurt good people. I don’t even regret them because…” He finally meets Arthur’s eyes, his gaze intent. “Because… you. You’re alive and well and _here_. That’s not the mark of a good advisor.”

It hurts, to think of the past. Arthur thinks back to what Merlin told him, on that quiet night that Uther had died (It was a painfully ordinary night and Arthur had almost wanted to yell at something for the incongruity of it all. Uther had deserved something more than ordinary.) when he’d told Arthur of his magic and all that he had done to protect him. Of Mordred and Morgana and countless other casualties to keep Arthur alive in the name of fate and destiny and what Arthur later realized was love, plain and anything but simple.

He looks at Merlin and knows that he’s not the only one who’s too young for this— for ruling a kingdom and uniting the land and whatever else destiny has in store for them. He’s been by Merlin’s side when he wakes sometimes, terrified out of his mind by nightmares. Of course Merlin never tells Arthur anything, but he knows that though it pales in comparison to Morgana’s, Merlin has a little Sight. And it hurts, to think of the future.

But this is the present, and Arthur is still young and there’s still so much time, so much to do and improve. And Arthur thinks that this is definitely something he can make right.

“I need you by my side, Merlin, advisor or no.”

“I _am_ by your side.” Merlin taps him on his shoulder as if to make a point.

“As more than just a manservant. I need people to see how much I respect you and value your opinions.”

He’d hoped that would get a positive response at least, but Merlin just sighs. “You know I’ve never asked for anything more, Arthur.”

“But I want to give you more.” Merlin looks like he’s on the verge of arguing, so Arthur quickly continues, “This isn’t some twisted form of—of trying to court you or repay you or anything like that. You’re a good man, Merlin, and I trust you with my life. There’s no one I’d rather have at my side to face whatever comes, if you’re willing.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and Arthur’s head snaps up in Merlin’s direction, suddenly worried that he’s misjudged everything though it’s been a long time since he even considered Merlin not being a constant presence at his side. But Merlin’s gazing back at him, a small smile on his face, and he relaxes.

“You know that I am, Arthur. ‘Till the day I die.”

And that’s all he needs. “Then I think it’s time for a little change in policy. You know as well as I do that Camelot is more than ready.”

It would have been worth it for nothing more than the blinding grin that lights up Merlin’s face.

 

 

In a week, Arthur finds himself standing in front of the throne, a good deal of the council and members of the castle before him. At his side, Geoffrey is wrapping up his speech.

“…And so on this historic day under the first year of the reign of our King Arthur, it has been declared that the practice of sorcery is no longer forbidden and that magic shall once again be accepted at the heart of Camelot. As evidence of this and a gesture of good faith, the court appoints Merlin, son of Hunith and Balinor, to advise the court on the practice of all magics and to act as the official warlock of the kingdom. Merlin, do you pledge your loyalty to Camelot?”

When Merlin speaks, his voice rings out through the hall. “I do.”

Arthur smiles, and turns to the man kneeling in front of him. Merlin looks more than a little stunning. He’s dressed in deep blue robes and the sun is glinting off the top of the thrones and shining on him with a soft light. Arthur can almost believe that the entirety of their lives have all been leading up to this moment— a king and a sorcerer and a land stretching out before them. He unsheathes Excalibur. The sunlight glints off of the edge of the blade as he draws it in an arc over his head and lays the flat of it on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Rise, Merlin son of Hunith and Balinor. From this day forward, you shall be known as the Court Sorcerer of Camelot.”

The audience breaks into applause (and a few inappropriate cheers, from Gwaine’s side of the room) as Merlin stands and smiles, his gaze never wavering from Arthur.

As he leans in to hug him, his lips brush past Arthur’s ear. “My loyalty is to Camelot, but all that I am, I pledge to you.” It’s spoken softly, meant only for Arthur’s ears, but the promise seems to echo through the space between them.

 

(Later, back in Arthur’s chambers, Merlin complains of how kneeling on the throne room floors really does a number on one’s knees. Arthur politely asks whether he’d like a baby bottle, since he seems set on whining like one, and he receives a pillow in the face for his efforts. It takes about two seconds of mental debate over whether it would be beneath a king to retaliate before Arthur decides that, screw it, there are some people he doesn’t want or need to hold back around.

What follows is ten minutes worth of roughhousing, a lot of undignified laughter for a king and court sorcerer, and two broken pillows whose feathers fly everywhere and stick in Merlin’s hair, making him look ~~strangely endearing~~ like an idiot. They end up lying on Arthur’s bed, too tired to do more than breathe heavily.

And if at that moment Arthur happens to mumble that he pledges himself to Merlin too, if he will have him, Merlin just smiles into his shoulder and entwines their fingers because it was never a question.

It feels a lot more like destiny than anything anyone’s ever foretold.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really out of practice, blegh. I rewrote this and rearranged things at least 5 times, and I'm still kind of ?? But I really like thinking about future AUs with Merlin as court sorcerer and all the things that could have been (like uniting Albion, openly accepting those with magic and trying to make attempts at recompensation, dealing with people who resist change [Arthur having twice as many assassins haha that's terrible], and in this case, how insecure they both must feel at the start of everything because it's in their natures).   
> As always, thank you so much for reading this, and I hope things are going well for you wherever you are :)


End file.
